


The Team Sin Challenge

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for The Team Sin Challenge for summerpornathon 2012</p><p>Explanation and voting post is <a href="http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/86723.html">here.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Team Sin Challenge

**1.**

**Warnings:** public sex

**Rain-Kissed**

Gwaine groaned, hearing the pub door lock behind him as the raindrops bounced off the ground onto his freshly-shined shoes.

“Fucking perfect,” he muttered under his breath but was thankful that Elyan had been kind enough to shove an umbrella into his hands before tossing him out the door. Small mercies, or something.

Knowing he’d missed the last train, bus, what-have-you, Gwaine opened the umbrella grudgingly and began his trek home – just over half an hour on a good day – to sober up. No sense waiting for a taxi, his shoes were ruined already. To keep his idle, drunk-fuzzy mind busy – no way he’d pull out his mobile in this weather – Gwaine began counting the street lamps. He’d got to 56 when he stopped dead in his tracks.

There. Right under the 56th street lamp on the way from The Blacksmith to his flat, there stood a vision, or so he thought, rubbing his eyes repeatedly. But she stayed. Not a drunken hallucination then.

Gwaine approached her cautiously, taking her in, completely out of place in the harsh fluorescent light of the street lamp. She couldn’t have been much younger than him, he thought, definitely not older, as the sopping blonde locks cascaded down her back. Her face was turned up into the downpour, raindrops falling on her, sliding down her neck and around her outstretched arms. Her yellow sundress was soaked through, clinging to her body completely, highlighting her curves, moving with her as she swayed in the rain.

Lightning not too far off broke Gwaine out of his reverie and made the girl in front of him grin broadly as she ran her hands over her face and through her hair before she finally noticed him.

“’Lo,” she greeted him, like she was greeting an old friend on a sunny day, and not a stranger in the middle of the night, in a summer storm.

“Hi,” Gwaine replied, not sure what else to say. “Alright?” He tilted his umbrella at her.

Her grin returned. “Perfect.” The girl looked at his umbrella, at his suit and his slacks and his freshly-polished shoes and raised her eyebrows. “Will you melt?”

“Sorry?”

“The rain, the water, will it make you melt?” she asked playfully, stepping closer and closer, until she was just outside the reach of his umbrella.

Gwaine laughed, ready with a reply on his lips, but another flash of lightning made him stop. This close she looked ethereal in the bright light, blue eyes popping, the droplets of water on her lips drawing attention to them, making Gwaine think of nothing but kissing and licking each one away.

“Gwaine,” he said and extended his hand, feeling the summer-warm droplets falling on his skin.

“Elena.” She shook his hand vigorously and smiled at him. Gwaine had a pick up line or five ready, not least of all something about letting her stand under his umbrella, when she pulled her hand out of the handshake and, taking advantage of his distraction, yanked the umbrella out of his grip.

Elena raced a few feet away, swinging the umbrella around herself, getting its inside as wet as its outside. Gwaine stood frozen to the spot before he chased after her, around the street light, a rubbish bin, a bench. She took him to a square across the road.

“You haven’t melted,” Elena observed when she stopped, leaning against the back of a bench, umbrella propped upside down by her feet.

It took a moment for Gwaine to reply, his heart beating faster from the chase, body thrumming with excitement and adrenaline, eyes raking over every inch of Elena’s body, watching raindrops trail down her face, neck, arms, between her breasts. Gwaine wanted to move closer, to follow each one with his hands and mouth, to make her uneasy the same way she made him.

“Nope. I’m still here.” Gwaine stepped closer and pushed his hair out of his face, knowing exactly what he was doing, having used this maneuver on plenty of women before. It always worked. “You disappointed?” he asked Elena, standing in front of the bench, in front of her.

The easy grin didn’t leave her face, but her gaze shifted as he was watching, falling to his lips then to his wet suit, before daringly looking back up.

“Not in the least,” she replied, climbing over the back of the bench to sit on it, wet dress, hair and all, legs falling open in unspoken invitation.

She reached out and Gwaine stepped in closer, knee falling to the soaked bench seat to support himself, while he wrapped his arm around her waist. She rubbed her nose up the side of his face, along his jawline, against his stubble and gasped into his ear, hands coming up to card through his hair. His fingers dug into her back, bunching the wet fabric of her dress, pushing their bodies flush, his erection straining against his trousers as he fell into the heat between her legs.

When she finally kissed him, just as they pressed closer, she kissed with her entire body. Her plump lips rubbed against his, tongue seeking out his in a maddening tease of quick, too-soft flicks. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and her legs wrapped around his waist as she made aborted little thrusts from her precarious position.

Gwaine gripped Elena tightly and lifted her up, mouth never leaving hers amidst the continuous water falling around them, cock throbbing against the heat of her body. He placed her on the bench seat, laid her down along it and lowered himself over her, one of his knees braced on the bench.

Soft gasps and moans escaped Elena’s lips as Gwaine finally let his hands roam her body, just like he’d wanted but hadn't quite been allowed to from the moment he'd first seen her. He ran his fingers gently up her sides - tickling, if the giggles and shakes she was holding back were anything to go by - then moved them across her neck, down her arms, tracing lines in the moisture on her skin.

Her hands explored, too, slipping boldly under his suit, wherever they could – starting timidly with his collar, but soon pulling his shirt out of his trousers and pulling up, exposing the small of his back to the rain. Each touch of Elena’s hands drove Gwaine wilder with want, his hips firmly settled between her legs – one fallen to the ground, the other propped up on the back rest of the bench – thrusting gently against her.

Gwaine kept up his thrusts, giving him minimal relief, hands cupping Elena’s breasts, lips, teeth, tongue laving at her neck and her mouth.

“Please, Gwaine,“ she finally said in his ear, remembering his name then at least, in-between stuttering thrusts of her pelvis under him.

When Gwaine pulled back to look at her, all he saw was need, want. Even in the dim light of the street lamp, her blue eyes looked almost black now. She cupped his face and held it, then repeated, “Please.”

“Yes,” Gwaine said and kissed her, relishing her gasp, the way her fingernails dug into the skin at his nape. He scrambled one-handed to reach into his pocket and go for a condom, but stopped when he realized it wouldn’t work.

He pulled back, breaking the kiss and loved the way Elena practically whined when he kneeled up. “Sorry, sorry,” he told her, hand rubbing what he thought were soothing circles into her exposed thigh until he had to let go to reach back for his wallet and fumble a condom from it. She laughed at him, but slipped her hands under her dress to tug down her panties – white, soaked – over her wet thighs. Gwaine’s mouth went dry.

“A little help?”

Gwaine put the condom packet in his mouth and slid the wallet back into his pocket with lightning speed before lifting one of Elena's legs up to meet the other in front of him. He kissed the backs of her knees while he moved the panties over her calves and finally her feet, then deposited them inside his jacket pocket and had to hold back a moan as Elena let her legs fall back open. 

"Fuck," he said, the condom falling from his mouth. 

Elena lifted herself up on her elbows and reached for it, holding it up. "That's the plan." With the rain slowing down, he could see her better, and the open expression on her face made him speechless. 

Gwaine made quick work of his belt and trouser fastenings, even with the wet fabric and slippery hands. When he finally pulled his cock out, pushing his boxer briefs and trousers down, he had to grip himself at the base, the build-up of it all making him too sensitive, especially in the cool air. He took the condom from Elena, shaking his head and kissing her knuckles away when she tried to put it on him, sliding it down his shaft. 

Strong legs wrapped around him again, bringing Gwaine back down on top of Elena on the bench. He kept his hand on the base of his cock, wanting to make sure she was okay with all of this, kissing away any niggling doubt in his own mind. He slipped a hand up her thigh, between her legs, loving the way she shivered at his touch, as his fingers got closer and closer to her wet pussy.

His fingers slipped between her folds with ease, the slick wetness making Gwaine turn his head into Elena's neck and mouth at it in need of a distraction. He rubbed through the fluids, fingertips moving up and down, gently grazing Elena's clit with his palm on each passing. When she whined and bucked up, Gwaine moved back up to kiss her, letting her bite and tug at his lower lip while he slid his two wet fingers into her. 

Elena whimpered and dug her hands into his shoulders, her mouth falling open in pleasure. Gwaine pumped his fingers in and out of her gently, slowly, teasing inside of her cunt, pressing the heel of his palm over her clit, letting her buck up into it and ride his hand, while he finally pulled down the top of her dress and began sucking and licking at her hard nipples. 

Her skin tasted of summer - the sun and the rain and the night around them - and with her body strong underneath him, he got lost in it all, mouth going numb from constant contact. A hard yank to his hair drew him away from Elena's breasts, back up to her face where she whispered, "Fuck me," against his lips.

Gwaine pulled his slicked hand out of her and kissed away the disappointment from her face, using the hand to run over his cock, slicking it up more, before lining himself up and pushing in.

Though Gwaine wanted to take his time, to feel her heat around him inch by excruciating inch, staving off his own pleasure in typical for him masochistic fashion, Elena was having none of it. She wrapped her legs tightly around his torso and brought him in right away, his entire cock buried deep inside her, Gwaine's pelvic bone pressing against hers, angled against her clit.

Elena's hands were in his hair, then on his back, shoulders, arms, moving as if she didn't know what to do with them to ground herself. They finally settled back in Gwaine's hair when he distracted Elena with his mouth once more, peppering her skin with kisses and licks as he began to thrust.

Gwaine kept his thrusts shallow at first, not wanting to leave the heat, but Elena tugged at his hair, and dug her nails into his neck, and ran her teeth over his lips and moaned his name until he broke. He couldn't hold back any longer and moved his hips in long, deep, hard thrusts against her, moving his cock in and out of her; and judging by the way Elena tilted her head back, baring it back to the gentle drizzle of the rain, that's exactly what she wanted. 

She writhed underneath him, matching each thrust with a slant of her hips or a tug on his hair, legs helping her move with him. Their breaths were coming in harsh gasps and choked-off moans, just above the sound of the droplets of the rain still falling around them. Gwaine teased and tugged at Elena's nipples until her breathy moans turned loud, a veritable litany of swear words and gibberish.

Gwaine had to bite her shoulder then, as his hips began to lose their rhythm, and heat pooled in the bottom of his stomach. When Elena began to thrash wildly underneath him, hands gripping him in place, fucking herself on his cock from below, it was too much. He let her ride his cock, grinding and writhing as he growled his orgasm into her skin, spilling into the condom.

When Elena whined under him, he brought his hand down in between their bodies and rubbed at her clit, head resting on her chest, tongue idly licking her nipple, pinning her in place. Gwaine replaced his softening cock with his fingers and it didn't take long then as she thrust against his hand, coming with a shout muffled into the top of his head. 

Gwaine shifted to the side to avoid crushing her and pulled the top of her dress back up, smoothed it over her breasts and down her legs to cover her up, nosing into her neck, kissing her far too gently for a random hook-up in the middle of the night. 

As he assessed his drenched suit and let his eyes skate over her body and the sundress once more, Gwaine realized that at some point, the rain had stopped. He looked down at Elena, finding inquisitive eyes staring back as she idly ran her hand up and down his side. He wanted to say something, thought he should, but his extensive situational vocabulary had nothing for this. What could he say - ask her if she was cold? make a joke of it? talk some more about the weather?

All things considered, that last one didn't seem like such a bad idea. 

"It stopped raining."

"All that, and observant, too," Elena teased him, eyes dancing with laughter.

Gwaine couldn't help but bite playfully at her jaw, tickle her sides again, until she was yelping, asking him to stop. He finally let up when she was too out of breath to beg for mercy much longer, looking flushed and rumpled in the best of ways.

"Still glad I didn't melt?" It was too honest a question for him, for this, but he asked it anyway.

The silence as Elena took her time replying - hand tracing up his arm, shoulder to his face - was deafening. But her response, bathed in laughter, made Gwaine relax and hope. "Yes, definitely."

* * *

**2.**

**Warnings:** Needle-play, suturing, mild bloody play, unprotected sex between consenting/monogamous adults, some D/s, references to play-parties and everything that comes with a monogamous couple inviting people into their relationship in a non-sexual but scene capacity, and explicit language.

**The Thimbles Between Us**

Notes: Thank you to K & C for the beta and F for the knowledge/tips, as I've never written anything like this before. The title is from a concept that I stole from Peter Pan, where Peter would give thimbles as gifts because he thought they were secret kisses.

  
_"Chains do not hold people together. It is the threads, hundreds of tiny threads, which sew people together through the years."_ —S. Signoret

Funnily enough, Merlin didn't gain this kink simply because his boyfriend was a fancy surgeon. It had been there for years, lurking underneath the surface, just waiting for someone to take the chance, to be trusted enough and to trust Merlin to know what he wanted. Luckily, Arthur brought more than just being a stable, trusted partner to their relationship.

He brought expertise.

And a really, really pretty mouth.

~~~ 

Merlin tugged off his shoes and walked into the bedroom. Arthur was already there, bare chested and looking slightly silly in just his briefs and socks that snaked up his calves. Merlin really loved those calves, strong and toned from standing on operating theatre floors all day long.

"Hey, Doc," Merlin said and when Arthur turned around, he was grinning. "What's up?"

"I brought you something," he said and yeah, Merlin could see the nervous, hopeful energy now, the way Arthur always got when he brought home a present or had good news. Merlin knew it probably came from his overwhelming urge to please—to do anything to make someone smile, like he had never been able to do for his father, while smiling was the only thing he ever did for his mother before she died. 

It took a long time for them to figure out that it was more than Arthur just throwing his money around to buy affection. Giving was a particular talent of Arthur's. 

Merlin crossed the bedroom, hands folding around Arthur's smooth biceps, so that he could kiss him. His mouth tasted like toothpaste, and whatever polite "hello, honey" kiss turned strong and deep, leaving Merlin a little breathless from its intensity. 

"I'm totally gonna love this present," Merlin murmured when they pulled apart. Arthur was already smiling, cheeks pink as he said, "Well, I do hope so."

"Do you want me to guess?" 

Arthur shook his head. "No, just sit down." 

Merlin sat and Arthur moved over to his work bag that Merlin respectfully didn't call a 'murse' but it certainly wasn't a gym bag. He tried to remember what Arthur's schedule was today but couldn't recall it exactly. He didn't think Arthur was on call tonight, a rare night that they could spend time together without waiting for Arthur to be called in to save lives. 

Yeah, so his boyfriend was kind of a superhero hiding behind a scalpel and some letters after his name.

No big deal. 

A really sexy, half naked superhero. 

Merlin licked his lips, watching Arthur rifle through his bag. "Is it shiny?" 

"Clepto."

"Can I eat it?" 

"I'd rather you didn't."

Merlin hummed, just now noticing how clean their room was. Clearly Arthur had tidied after Merlin had left because he distinctly remembered tripping half a dozen times on as many objects on his way out the door that morning. Beside him on the bed was a folded pair of clean scrubs. Before Merlin could look up and see if Arthur had finished digging in his bag, several vacuum sealed hypodermic needles tumbled onto the bright blue scrubs. And a thick spool of surgical thread.

Oh. 

_Oh._

Holy fuck. 

Merlin stared, mouth a little agape and his heart fluttering wildly in his chest. His chest felt so light and uncontrollably giddy that he was afraid he was developing a heart murmur there on the spot. 

"We don't have to," Arthur said but when Merlin looked up he was grinning excitedly and looking a bit smug at Merlin's reaction. 

"Arthur—"

He sat down next to Merlin, grasping his hands and tugging Merlin's attention away from the very shiny, very alluring needles. It took a few squeezes of his hands for Merlin to turn fully away from them and focus on Arthur. 

"I went through your checklist," Arthur said and Merlin blushed. He wasn't new to scening but he had never really been into anything extreme, mostly participating in play-parties and some extremely vanilla BDSM, compared to some of the people Merlin knew. Yet, something about the way Arthur said it made it sound... intimate and almost scandalous, like he read Merlin's diary instead of an outline of what Merlin wanted out of a needle-play scene, what his goals were, his limitations and some pretty detailed fantasising mixed in. 

When Merlin had first brought it up, after seeing some needle-play at one of Morgana's Kinky Potlucks, Arthur had sent him into the bedroom with a legal pad and told him to write everything down. Later, Arthur read it and put down his own feelings about each of Merlin's and they had a grown up discussion about it. They were adults but it didn't stop Merlin from blushing, feeling the hot rush of arousal in his dick and the paralysing excitement of how eager Arthur seemed as well.

This was really happening. 

This wasn't just threshold testing at a party or watching porn together or letting Arthur practise dressing his wounds and then frantically fucking in the mess of gauze because the mere idea had them shredding each other's clothes and spilling come all over themselves like teenagers just learning to jack each other off. 

"Do you still want to do this?" Arthur squeezed Merlin's hands but when he opened his mouth to reply, Arthur interrupted him. "Think about it before you answer, Merlin." 

Merlin immediately stuck out his tongue in protest but didn't answer right away. He thought back to the first time he had really seen needle-play at a party, watching Elyan and his sister Gwen work with needles. For them, it wasn't a sex thing. It was a trust thing that Gwen did for Elyan, just surface piercings with short needles. That wasn't what was going to happen between Arthur and him. 

For one, it was definitely a sex thing. 

Oh god, was it a sex thing—Merlin was simply intrigued by surface piercings and his real desire manifested later, after some interesting Google searching—and had more to do with the surgical thread the needles were laying on top of. 

"I want this," Merlin said, trying not to grin like a manic idiot but loving the way Arthur watched him so intently. "I want to do this with you." 

"Yeah?"

Merlin nodded, noticing the way Arthur's voice went a little breathy. "Yeah, can we do it soon? Or do you have to work?"

"I'm not on call tonight and I've got the morning off." 

Merlin grinned, looking away from Arthur and twisting back around to look at the needles. There were a lot of them and Merlin doubted they would use all of them but the thread—god. 

"It looks really sturdy," Merlin said and Arthur laughed. 

"It is. Obviously it could still be torn but it gets the job done most of the time." Merlin continued to stare at the perfect steel until Arthur got up, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. "Do you want to change any of the parameters?"

Merlin waited, thinking about it, before shaking his head. "No. Everything is fine." 

"Safeword?"

Merlin looked up. Arthur's fingers were hovering over the needles and this, well, this was it. Basically, Merlin saying his safeword would bring them into the scene. If he didn't say it or said a different word, they would move on—have some non-scene related orgasms to make sure there was no weirdness and that would be the end of it. They would talk about it later. 

"My safeword is Vodka," Merlin said, staring at Arthur until he nodded. They used a traffic-light system for the rest: yellow meant slow down but keep the scene and green was generally used to restart a scene because usually, the sound of Merlin's enthusiast consent was loud and clear. Arthur tended to forgo any toy that would restrict Merlin's mouth, because he was a vain bitch. 

Arthur scooped up the needles and the scrubs. Merlin watched, taking deep breaths and keeping his body still as Arthur walked to their dresser and put away his scrubs with very deliberate actions.

Merlin made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded strangled and kittenish to even his own ears. Arthur was being so careful and open—the sheer power of it seemed to rock Merlin back on his heels, how something so small as folding up Arthur's scrubs and putting them away could do so much: Arthur was using the action to show that yes, he read Merlin's list. It wasn't a medical kink. There wasn't any need for scrubs. 

Remarkably simple and remarkably sweet. 

"Go take a shower," Arthur said. "Wash everywhere and when you're done, stretch yourself with three fingers. Don't rush it and use plenty of lube, Merlin. I won't stretch you anymore because that's unsterile and my hands will be occupied. It's your responsibility to do this properly."

He paused and Merlin waited, not moving from the bed. 

"Shower please. I'll be waiting." 

Merlin didn't rush, scrubbing his skin until it turned pink, paying extra attention to the areas he had labelled on the little "Where Does It Hurt?" diagram Arthur had brought back from the hospital for Merlin to indicate where he would be interested in the placing of the needles. Just the thought made Merlin giggle, his cock hard against his belly, as he scrubbed himself clean. 

Twenty minutes later, he was blow-drying his hair with one hand (Arthur hated dampness on the linens because he was pretty much an anal retentive asshole sometimes) and using the other hand to stick his fingers in his arse. He knew he looked ridiculous, one leg up on the counter at a weird angle so that he could get better access to his hole, while still trying to stay in the path of the mirror so that he didn't end up blow-drying all his hair directly vertical. He kept almost losing his balance, having to hop a little bit on his foot and almost impale himself on his hand or smack himself in the face with the hair dryer. 

Sex with Arthur was always _so complicated_.

Merlin grinned in the mirror. 

Finally, with his hair dry (even behind his ears!) and arse thoroughly stretched and uncomfortably slick, Merlin exited the bathroom. The bedroom had changed and that too made his heart catch: the bed was stripped down to a fitted sheet and their largest Fascinator-Throw was spread out over the majority of the bed. (By far the best purchase of Merlin's "adult" life; super soft, practically indestructible and sex-fluid proof, with the added convenience of being machine washable—Merlin really wanted it in purple or leopard print but Arthur insisted on black because he _didn't want them to think they were gay_. Really. Because a) that was what was going to give them away and b) Arthur was the one who subscribed them to  Advocate and Out and insisted they be on the hospital's Pride float every year. A flamboyant sexytimes blanket was the least of their flagrant gaiety.) 

There was a tray on the night stand and Merlin stepped closer to the bed to see all the needles laid out, the thread there too, just waiting, and Arthur, beautiful and amazing, clad in nothing but grey briefs and latex gloves.

Yeah, the gloves were definitely part of the kink. 

"Wow," Merlin said. 

Arthur cleared his throat. 

"Lie down on the bed, face up and practise being still," Arthur said, the last couple of words stern but chastising, as if he doubted Merlin could do it. 

It made Merlin want to flail in defiance or better yet, prove him wrong. 

The blanket was as soft as always and when Merlin turned his face toward Arthur, he could see the way his cock filled the front of the briefs. Arthur was hard and they hadn't even begun yet. 

Merlin's cock twitched happily and he barely resisted grinning up at Arthur, with his super-serious face and that straining jaw he always got when he was Doming-out as much as he could—all perfect control and gorgeous strength—just an extension and exaggeration of who Arthur was through and through. 

"Now what?" Merlin asked. Arthur had turned his back and Merlin was trying to stay as still as possible. 

"Well Mer _lin_ ," Arthur drawled, impatient and slightly annoyed. "Now I'm going to sew you back together." 

Merlin inhaled sharply, as Arthur suddenly moved closer, practically on top of him, breathing into his face, saying, "Stop _moving_." 

"Right. Okay." 

"You asked me to do this," Arthur said, quiet and sure, tension gone like he knew Merlin was going to comply. "Let me do this for you." 

Merlin melted into the pillow, taking a deep breath that made his chest hurt, then settled into a stillness he couldn't believe. He focussed on Arthur's hands, where they rested on his chest. He let his mind roll around the possibility of getting nipple piercings, how amazing it would be to let Arthur plan it out—choose the size of bar and bells, choose the venue, choose the appointment time—he let the fantasy take him away but ground him too, in the way that he could imagine himself there in the chair, patiently waiting and wishing the hands readying the nipple were Arthur's. 

Arthur's broad, lifesaving hands, wrapped in the safest gloves on the market.

Safe for open heart surgery. 

Safe for Merlin's skin. 

"Close your eyes," Arthur ordered and there was a blink of panic in Merlin, where he wanted to fight it, wanted to stop, wanted to keep going but watch the preparation, but then Arthur's gloved hand rested against his cheek and Merlin exhaled, looking straight into Arthur's blue eyes.

He closed his eyes. 

There was nothing but rushing whiteness and Merlin settled down. Arthur moved around, his glove no longer able to rest constantly on Merlin's skin but that was fine, everything was going to be fine, because Arthur was there and he was going to take care of it. 

Merlin concentrated on the sound of Arthur puttering around, presumably threading the surgical thread. Before, when they had done trial runs at parties, Merlin had found out that lube stung too much for him and he had settled with a little bit more pain for prolonged and promised pleasure. So he knew that Arthur wasn't messing about with lube but was carefully stringing and making sure the thread was spooled. The fact that they had access to surgical thread was a hard line for Arthur, he wasn't going to do this with fishing line, like some of the suggestions in books and on websites read. He was appalled by the idea, knowing that something not made to go into the body was going into Merlin. That absolute line was what brought them here, the safety in knowing that Arthur was an expert in bodies and knew Merlin's better than anyone else in the world.

Someday, Merlin would be able to watch the way his meticulous fingers worked. But for now, it was enough to know that his face wasn't frowned in concentration. He wasn't biting his lip because Arthur wasn't like that. Dr Arthur Pendragon was stoic, with steady hands and a face so handsome, nurses swore he never broke a sweat during surgery—nothing but calm, confidence spread across his face. 

That was enough for Merlin to notice the temperature of the room had risen, keeping him comfortable without his clothes and the way the body was prone to shock. He focused on the feel of the micro-fibre of the blanket underneath him and the utter stillness of his body. 

"Merlin," Arthur said after an undistinguishable amount of time. 

"Yeah?" 

"We're going to start with something small," he said. "We'll work up to something a bit more... useful but we'll start with this." 

There was a beat, enough for an exhale, before Merlin felt the antiseptic hit his skin at the hip. It was the fleshy part of the hip, almost more of his waist, but it was a long line. Merlin shivered as it dried. 

"I want to hear you," was all Arthur said before his fingers were there, trusting Merlin to always find his voice when they were together, as he pushed in the first threaded needle. 

"Oh _fuck_ ," Merlin whined, teeth gnashing together. Pain flared hot, racing up his side and settling like a lapping wave in the pit of his belly. Arthur paused for a second, then continued and the fire spread, a unique sort of pain that rolled in until Merlin felt the needle go through the other side. 

Another pause but when Merlin spoke, it was "yes," and not anything else.

He could feel the thread now, Arthur tugging it through the hole he just made and pulling it through. There was a beat of time when Merlin tried to calm his panting, he desperately wanted to reach out and touch Arthur, but until he was done, there wasn't to be any touching. He felt the soft wipe, probably a cloth for the minimal amount of blood he would spill—the movement so gentle that he barely felt it through the overstimulation of pain and pleasure sweeping his body.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, not even remotely ashamed that his voice was soft, round with awe and praise as he went boneless underneath Arthur's steady weight. 

The needle stuck him again. 

Up and up like a lattice, Arthur sewed confidently, taut but comfortable sutures. Each moment sliding the thread, bringing a new crashing wave of pain that would flare bright and unmistakable, spreading out in pleasure like a firework refusing to be consumed by the darkness or closing your eyes and still seeing light. Merlin focused on settling himself in the pin-prick of the moment. He melted into the belly of the pain, needle-point sharp, and lost himself there, where Arthur was piecing him together like a quilt. 

In his mind's eyes, Merlin yearned to see the flow of the thread and the arch of Arthur's arm as he brought it down. Merlin knew it would have been lyrical, a rhythm of puncture, slide, puncture, pull—great clean loops. 

"Open up," Arthur said when he was done. When Merlin opened his eyes, Arthur had leaned over him so that he could only see Arthur filling up his vision. 

"Hello, you." 

"Hello, you," Arthur repeated. He leaned down, kissing Merlin soundly, pushing his hips down into the bed as his fingers pressed dangerously close to the newly sewn sutures. Merlin keened into his mouth, blindly lapping at Arthur until he pulled away. 

Arthur stared, as if he was examining him—assessing him.

"I've made holes in you and I've filled you up with thread and pain and pleasure, Merlin. I've made holes and fucked them full," Arthur said, and Merlin was so happy to be done so that he could jerk when his cock did, body bowing up to Arthur's heat. 

Because this was why Arthur was there: more than just double penetration but dozens of tiny little holes that Arthur _made_ in Merlin and filled up, fucked with needle and thread and _dragged_ through him. The needle, an extension of his cock, that was simply a physical representation of what Arthur was doing to Merlin's heart. 

"Look at it," Arthur said, stroking the suture, letting it catch on the dryness of his gloves and pull until Merlin gasped, body jerking into his hand. His eyes frantically followed. The sutures were glorious, gunmetal thread criss-crossing his skin and laying claim like fresh tracks in snow. 

"You're so beautifully full of me," Arthur said, voice by Merlin's ear. There was a little bit of blood on the last suture as it was the newest and Merlin moaned as Arthur's finger smeared into it. "You were made for me to plug up all your holes and fuck them, leaving them open for me and only me to fill up until they burst. And now, now Merlin, I'll make you useful." 

Merlin nodded, hearing the question and smiling as Arthur rearranged them. His body felt heavy, his mind sluggish as he fought for headspace, his mind always more stubborn than his body. 

"Let me recast you," Arthur whispered. "Let me—"

They kissed. Arthur's mouth firm and patient, while Merlin couldn't control his tongue and felt over-eager. But the newness of his body was so alien that he could hardly contain himself. 

When they pulled apart, Merlin noticed that he had been propped up in the sitting position, a firm triangle support pillow behind him and Arthur at his side. 

"You'll watch me this time," Arthur said.

One of Merlin's forearms was turned over and antiseptic was applied. Merlin blinked. The first suture went on the side but the thread was left hanging. The second went on the opposite side and also dangled from Merlin's wrist. He breathed as best as he could and forced his body to relax into the firm hold of Arthur's hand. 

"See the way I fuck you," Arthur said calmly. "You take me so perfectly, hardly a drop of blood to spare because even that would rather touch my needle and feel me inside of you." 

Merlin cried out, his whole body wanting to surge with pleasure when Arthur took his forearm and laid it on top of the other and swabbed where they touched. Merlin watched, mouth trembling and riding a space that was threatening to topple him—which way, he wasn't sure. Arthur's strong fingers caught the thread on the side closest to Merlin and looped down, quickly catching the other arm, piercing the flesh and sinking, _sinking_ until it looped out. 

"Oh God, Arthur," Merlin moaned, too caught up and willing his body not to tremble. He took deep breathes and nearly cried when Arthur closed the surgical knot. His hand movements were confident and so fucking beautiful that Merlin felt swept up and completely useless in the face of such purity. 

The other side moved quicker, Merlin focusing on the feel instead of the sight. Arthur's face was just as Merlin pictured it: coolly confident and smiling slightly. Merlin could see his arousal, wetting the front of his briefs and he licked his lips, suddenly wishing that they could have anticipated how Merlin would have liked something of Arthur's in his mouth—how that would have made him feel safer—could have worked something out.

When the final surgical knot was tied, Merlin took a deep breath and said, "yellow." 

Arthur nodded, smiling and started to count back from twenty. 

At fifteen, Merlin closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of Arthur, which wasn't sterile but still clean and fresh. At ten, he reopened his eyes to see Arthur's smiling face, flushed with arousal and so unbelievably happy. 

When Arthur reached five, Merlin moaned and they were kissing at one. Merlin was still open and too overstimulated to be coordinated much more than a puppy but the way that Arthur slipped a little, allowed himself to pant in Merlin's mouth and moan around his tongue made Merlin shiver in delight, endorphins flooding his body. 

Merlin sucked on Arthur's tongue and when Arthur pulled back, he got up. Merlin watched as he shed his briefs and his cock bobbed out, hard and leaking at the head, spilling down the crown. 

"Green. Green. God, _green_. Can I put—"

Arthur laughed and Merlin blushed, staring down at his sewn together forearms. But when he looked back up, Arthur was already close enough to push his slick cockhead against Merlin's mouth.

"Just for a bit," Arthur soothed but Merlin was too busy gobbling it down his throat. His mouth was so _wet_ for it, tongue laving at the sides and curling to touch as much of Arthur's cock as possible. He breathed hard through his nose and let himself relax, giving himself time to forget the franticness, to forget his old body—with all its inadequacy—and find a space here, with what Arthur had created out of him. Merlin stretched until he could settle his forehead against Arthur's hard belly. 

He settled. 

If he looked down at the right angle, he could see one set of sutures on his arm. The sight had him moaning around Arthur's cock and slipping, falling over and tumbling, so ever light and Merlin never wanted to come back. 

Slowly, Merlin recognized he was being eased off Arthur's cock. He heard his own snuffling noises but couldn't stop them, couldn't feel shame when Arthur said, "always so greedy for me, so ready to be stuffed full up and owned."

Merlin just breathed and existed. 

Arthur settled back against the pillows and Merlin found himself being lifted up by his elbows, the sutures of his forearms stretching and pulling until he cried out, cock gushing against his belly in a pathetic attempt at escape. Merlin moaned out in pleasure, jerking pleasantly in Arthur's arms until he was settled on his lap. 

His arms were up and over Arthur's head. It positioned him so very close to him, legs coltish and in the way as Arthur moved them. Each time Merlin would thrash or moan, body rolling with pleasure and pain that made him sore higher, the sutures would pull a little and it would send him tumbling again, words spilling out of his mouth in a never ending spool of praise. 

"Arthur, Arthur," Merlin muttered, rubbing against him and feeling the blunt head of his cock slide against Merlin's balls and up, nesting and nudging into his hole. 

"Merlin," Arthur said, leaning to leave open mouthed but controlled kisses against Merlin's shoulders. "Merlin, listen and repeat after me." 

Merlin moaned, his eyelids so very heavy and his body so very light. The war of feelings made him feel tired and the constant resurgence of pleasure made him whine. Arthur's fingers were trailing over his body and moving him as he desired.

"I made these holes," Arthur said firmly, pressing kisses to his face. 

"You made these holes," he said, knowing the words by heart. Merlin choked on a noise, feeling overwhelmed and flying so high. He tried to ground himself, listening to the careful and solid cadence of Arthur's voice. 

"I filled you up."

"You, oh god Arthur, yes, you filled me up," Merlin dutifully repeated. 

"You're mine."

"I'm yours."

"I make you whole." 

"You do, you do, _Arthur_ ," Merlin whined, head bumping against Arthur's shoulder as he clenched and unclenched his arse, trying to get the head of Arthur's dick to move inside of him.

"Merlin, open your eyes."

He took a deep breath and did, eyes fluttering desperately as he tried to focus. He was dizzy with pleasure, sitting astride Arthur's lap, who was staring back at him with wide, blue eyes. He looked as if Merlin was the centre of everything—as if Merlin hung the moon. 

"Arthur—"

"I'm going to fuck you now," Arthur said, voice a little breathless but his hands firmly stroking the sutures on Merlin's hip. Merlin's hands flexed needlessly, the sutures binding his forearms together were loose but still tugged as he squirmed.

"Arthur, please." 

"Hush, I sewed you together, didn't I? Knitted you back up and now you're all put back together—I've made you whole and I'm going to fuck you now. Fill you up," Arthur whispered, lips and teeth nipping at Merlin's and trailing over his face. 

Merlin tried to breath. 

"Open up for me," and then Arthur was there, pushing at his entrance. It felt like a lifetime ago that Merlin was prepping himself, trying not to come as he watched Arthur and his beautifully talented hands arrange the needles. 

"Merlin," Arthur panted and then he felt it, the way Arthur's gloves clung to the sutures as his fingers dug in, pulling at his flesh, just as his cock was breaching and laying claim to the last opening Merlin had left. 

There wasn't a single part of him not filled with Arthur.

"Oh, oh," Merlin's body was trembling, his cock rubbing against Arthur's strained abs. Arthur's cock felt massive, even though his body opened gladly, letting him sink on Arthur's cock without much effort—just the heft of his body weighing him down and seating him on the thick width of Arthur's dick. 

Merlin didn't feel heavy though. He felt lighter than air. He felt as if nothing in the world could ever be better than this—Arthur, so completely and utterly filling him to the brim in every possible way. An utter slackness sunk into him, running through his tendons and cutting them until he was nothing but this, right here—nothing but Arthur's. 

"You're doing so well, Merlin," Arthur said, his voice shaking but low and fuck, Merlin could no longer keep his eyes open. They slid shut and his head rocked back, the loose net of his forearm sutures pulling as they caught on the back of Arthur's neck. 

Merlin moaned. "Arthur, I'm not going to—"

"Shh, you're doing fine, I'm almost done." 

Merlin didn't know how long he sat there: floating weightless and tethered by the strength of Arthur's cock thrusting into him; listening to his own breathless whimpers and pleading that seemed so far removed; feeling the stretch of his skin around the holes Arthur made and then filled; and the rhythm of Arthur's fingers as they squeezed his hips, his gloved fingers digging in there too, to make sure every nook and cranny was conquered.

"There you are," Arthur panted and Merlin moaned, stretching his back and riding the full length of Arthur's thrust. "I'm going to come, Merlin—fill you up. Wait, wait until I'm done." 

It was a barely audibly request but Merlin registered it dimly. He loved Arthur like this, quietly consumed with pleasure, giving everything to Merlin and holding nothing back—pounding into him, stretching him in so many ways and demanding that Merlin take it all because Arthur was fixing him—making him good enough for both of them.

Merlin was bouncing now, his head flopping like a ragdoll, to the uneven and frantic rhythm of Arthur's hips. He was going to come soon, sloppy and raw inside of Merlin, making him messy but full up—hell, probably bursting and leaking with come. 

"Merlin," Arthur said, giving one last gasp and a grunt before he came. Merlin moaned, head falling to Arthur's shoulder, pushing against his clavicle as Arthur rode out his pleasure. Merlin breathed deep, trying to open up his chest but he could feel the slippery way Arthur was working into him—the hitching way his hips were still shoving into him and how Merlin was wet, making a mess of Arthur's spent dick and the insides of his thighs—making a mess of the places they were pressed together. 

Making a mess because he was too full, brimming over and spilling around Arthur in gratitude. 

"Please," Merlin moaned, forehead sweaty and mind fuzzy with such bone deep satisfaction, he didn't know if he needed to come or if he could just stay there forever, bundled in Arthur's arms with Arthur's slowly softening cock inside of him. "Oh, Arthur, please."

It was only when Arthur moved a soothing hand up his back, tracing the bumps of his spine, while his other hand played the sutures on his hip like a violin, that Merlin realized that he was chanting Arthur's name. 

"I'd do it, you know," Arthur said. He was pressing against the side of Merlin's head, speaking low and sincere, earnest in a way that was only revealed when everything else had been peeled away—all the arrogance and privilege stripped down to just the way Arthur wanted nothing but to promise Merlin the world. 

Merlin quaked. 

"Someday, I'm going to take you apart like this. I'm going to take you apart in my arms and fill you up in all the ways you deserve and then I'm going to sew us together. I don't care what I have to pay to find someone to sew us together, babe, but I'll do it because you were made for me." 

It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to him. 

"Sew us together until you can't tell that we were ever apart," Arthur said. "Knit us together so that I'll become you and we'll never be separate." 

Merlin sat, arse leaking, sutures pulling as he sobbed into the slick skin of Arthur's neck. He felt so grounded to Arthur, he felt no pain just hot white, soft pleasure—the only burn was the searing heat of his tears on his cheeks and the way they made his cracked lips burn from the salt. 

"You can come now." 

It was soft and encouraging, almost an afterthought, but Merlin's body responded because they weren't two people anymore. They were just one perfectly formed creation. They were so damn perfect.

Merlin struggled to stay conscious, his orgasm just a distant and rolling pleasure through him. He wanted to stay awake because aftercare was so important to Arthur and the safe, warm feeling that was thudding through Merlin—he wanted to make sure that Arthur understood. But no matter what he wanted, he weaved in and out of consciousness as Arthur applied regional anaesthetic to the sutures, cut and pulled them out, before he thoroughly cleaned the neat punctures.

Merlin could feel the breadth of his own smile the entire time and was glad that every time he reached out to touch Arthur's face, he was smiling too. 

Bandages came next, two over his forearms and one for his hip. Some days, he dreamed of being completely covered by Arthur's work and of the tender way Arthur would dress him every morning and every night. 

Finally, Arthur's warmth stopped moving away and settled to the other side of the bed. Long ago, they realised that Merlin didn't like to be touched after this. That the only touch would be whatever he initiated as he slipped out of one headspace and into another, the transition slow and the limbo tricky to navigate. 

But he could feel the warmth of Arthur's body and that soothed him.

"Arthur?" 

"Yes, Merlin," Arthur said, voice rough but fond. 

"Thank you."

He reached across the small space between them, putting his fingers to the pulled stretch of Arthur's smiling mouth. He traced the teeth there. 

"Thank you so damn much," he repeated. 

"You're welcome, Merlin," Arthur said, tender now and Merlin felt like he might cry again. "We'll talk about the rest in the morning, okay? I've taken the day off work." 

Merlin dropped one of his hands to Arthur's and led it over to the bandage on his hip. 

"I like the way it feels," he said, blinking his eyes open, not noticing they’d ever closed. "Your fingers through the bandages." 

"I like it too." 

"Yeah?"

Arthur closed his eyes and Merlin watched him relax, his fingers gripping hard on Merlin's hip, squeezing twice before going slightly limp. 

"I love it, Merlin," Arthur said against Merlin's fingers. "I honestly do."

* * *

**3.**

“You’re still not doing it right,” said Vivian, ropes creaking. “Didn’t you read the knotwork website I linked you to?”

“I read it. I’m still no good at this.” Freya yanked on the rope.

“Ow! That’s much too tight. You make a terrible dominatrix.”

“I don’t see why I have to be the domme,” said Freya.

“We’ve been over this,” said Vivian, altogether too uppity for someone in the process of being tied to a beam, “you have the right colouring and Morgana was busy.”

“Well, I don’t see why we couldn’t use handcuffs,” Freya grumbled.

“Rope looks better on camera,” said Vivian, “though that’ll go to waste now. Keep the camera off the knots, will you, El?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes!” said Elena, looking up from the viewfinder on the camera. She was sprawled half on Vivian and Arthur’s old sofa and half on a pile of boxes that had been shoved out of the way to make room for their tiny film set. “Yes, I will do that.”

“You were filming my arse again, weren’t you?” said Vivian.

“Wasn’t,” said Elena, blushing.

And her arse, Freya had to admit, did look very nice. All of Vivian looked very nice, got up in red stockings and suspenders and very little else. Freya adjusted her own costume and winced as the corset bit into her ribs.

“Remind me again why I agreed to do this?” she sighed.

“Commitment to true art?” said Vivian. “Fix my hair, will you? I think it’s coming loose.”

“What if Arthur comes back early?” said Freya, poking strands of Vivian’s hair back into place.

“He won’t, he’ll be in Madrid till Sunday night at least,” said Vivian.

“Too busy shagging Merlin to come home,” said Elena, eyes fixed on the camera’s viewfinder. Probably watching back the footage she’d just recorded.

“Hey! We agreed not to talk about that,” said Vivian.

“I thought this was a vengeance gig?” said Elena.

“Shush, you,” said Vivian. She squirmed a little, testing the ropes. “Yes, that feels good now. Well done, Freya, you got it in the end.”

“I could leave at any time, you know,” said Elena. “Then you’d have to find a new camerawoman. I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart!”

“You’re doing it because Vivian says you can use her Jacuzzi after and because you’ve been coveting her TV for years,” said Freya, “and at least you’re behind the camera!”

“I think we’re ready to get started,” said Vivian, planting her legs further apart. “’Lena, go stand by the stairs, would you? I want to get my face in the first shots.”

“Vain much?” said Elena, dragging herself off the sofa.

“I’m filming myself naked and putting it on the internet. Of course I’m vain,” said Vivian. “If this doesn’t teach Arthur for leaving his kinky adultery tapes around the house nothing will. _Honestly_.”

“You guys have a weird marriage,” said Freya.

“We have the _best marriage_ ,” said Vivian. “The sex after this will be fantastic, you just wait.”

“You going to film that too?” said Elena, fixing the camera to the tripod.

“Maybe,” said Vivian. “Alright. Freya, do you know your lines?”

“Well –”

“Great. Action!”

There was a soft _click_ as Elena hit the button on the camcorder, and suddenly Freya felt completely exposed, standing there in Arthur and Vivian’s cellar in a corset with her tits out. Elena seemed to be aiming the camera mostly at her cleavage. She never thought she’d appreciate that.

Right, yes, lines. Freya racked her brains for the opening lines of the script.

“You’ve been a dirty girl, I’m going to have to –”

“No, that comes later!” said Vivian. “Cut, ‘Lena. Freya, you say ‘are you ready to rock?’, and I say ‘yes, mistress’, then you say ‘do you know why I tied you up like a turkey’, then I say –”

“Oh, my god,” said Elena. “Who wrote this crap?”

“I wrote it!” said Vivian.

“Oh. In that case, it’s terrible.” 

“Did _nobody_ read the script first? I emailed it to you and everything!”

“I read it, I just don’t have a good memory!” said Freya.

“In fairness, you only emailed it last night and it’s quite long,” said Elena.

“Oh, whatever,” said Vivian, “let’s start again. Elena, action!”

“Suit yourself,” said Elena. _Click_.

“Are you ready to rock and roll?” Freya toyed with the red leather paddle, feeling completely ridiculous.

“It’s just ‘rock’,” said Vivian.

“Close enough! Keep going,” said Elena.

“Are you ready to rock?” said Freya.

“Yes, mistress,” said Vivian, voice sickly sweet.

“Do you know why I tied you up like a – turkey?” Freya bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing.

“Yes, mistress,” said Vivian. “Because I’ve been a naughty girl.”

Freya blanked. “Yes, you’ve been very naughty,” she said quickly.

“Freya, no!” said Vivian. “Now we’ll have to start again!”

“Oh, look, this isn’t working,” said Elena. She snapped the camcorder closed. “I refuse to keep filming until you guys sort this shit out.”

“What? You can’t do that!” said Vivian, struggling to turn around and look Elena in the eye. “We’re on a tight schedule, ‘Lena!”

“Stop calling me that,” said Elena. “And I don’t care! Porn is supposed to be sexy, and this isn’t sexy. Well, it is a bit, because you’re both sexy and the two of you together should be double sexy, but – it’s not as sexy as it should be, alright?”

“Well do you have any better ideas?” said Vivian.

“Give me complete creative control?” Elena suggested.

“No,” said Vivian. “You’re make us wear kitty ears, I don’t want any of that furry crap in my porn.”

“In that case you could just be yourselves,” said Elena. “Freya’s right, _Viv_ , you do make a better domme.”

“I look better tied up,” said Vivian. “The camera loves me tied up.”

“Yeah, so, you get tied up _and_ be the domme,” said Elena.

“That doesn’t work,” said Vivian.

“No, it does,” said Elena. “You order Freya around and because you’re all tied up she doesn’t _have_ to do as you say but she does anyway because you’re just that good a domme.”

“I’m liking this plan,” said Freya. “Especially if it means I don’t have to talk.”

“Probably best you don’t talk,” said Elena.

“Hmm,” said Vivian. “Alright, we’ll try your way. But if I’m going to be the domme, I need better shoes. Freya, give me your stilettos!”

“Gladly,” said Freya.

Once Vivian had her shoes and the rope had been adjusted accordingly, they were ready to start filming again.

“Touch me,” said Vivian crisply in her normal voice once Elena started filming. Freya ran her hands up Vivian’s back, tracing her spine, then palmed her flat belly. “That’s it. Good girl. Now my tits, touch my tits.”

Freya slipped around Vivian’s body and palmed her tits, cupping one in each hand. There was a faint buzz as Elena zoomed the camera in. Things still felt a bit awkward until Vivian said,

“Now use your mouth. Suck my nipples.”

It was just a strange thing to say and it should have been funny, or else Freya should have been completely mortified, but either reaction would ruin the shot, so all she could do was obey, do whatever Vivian told her to for as long as this took, and she found herself slipping into the necessary state of mind so easily it was almost jarring.

She ducked her hair and mouthed at once of Vivian’s nipples, feeling it harden in her mouth – it was warm in the cellar, Vivian had insisted on bringing a heater down since they were going to be faffing about in their underwear – feeling the way Vivian’s skin pulled and prickled as she touched it. She ran her tongue over it, once, twice, and heard Vivian moan, ropes creaking.

“Good girl. Now the other one.”

“Now _that’s_ sexy,” Freya heard Elena say as she began to suck on Vivian’s other breast.

Vivian let her play for a while, edging her downwards. Freya pressed soft kisses along Vivian’s ribs, down across her stomach, lingering at her navel, but just as her lips reached the top of Vivian’s freshly shaved pussy she was ordered to stop.

“Fetch the paddle,” said Vivian, breathless. “Go on. Let’s get some kink going.”

The paddle was new, the leather stiff and shiny. It had hearts stamped into one side, to leave marks, like some kind of perverse kiss.

“Now spank me,” said Vivian. “Spank me good. I’m a naughty girl.”

Elena giggled. Vivian shot her a glare. Freya flexed her fingers around the paddle, testing it. She wasn’t sure she quite dared – Vivian’s arse was so perfect and so delicate looking – but Vivian had told her to. She drew back her arm and struck.

Vivian hissed. “Come on, you can do better than that,” she said. “ _Harder_.” Freya tried again. “Harder!” Freya gritted her teeth and gave it her all. This time the _slap_ of cheap leather on skin echoed around the cellar and Vivian let out a squeak.

“That’s it,” she said once she’d caught her breath. “Like that. That’s it.”

Freya still wasn’t quite sure she could do it, until Elena caught her eye and raised her eyebrows as if to say _come on, get back at her for making you dress up in a corset and pretend to be a dominatrix_ – or maybe that wasn’t what Elena meant at all, Freya wasn’t the best at reading people, but that’s what she was going with. She spanked Vivian again, trying to get the same angle so as to leave neat heart-prints on her bum.

Vivian jerked when she was struck, her whole body straining at the ropes, and she would _not_ shut up, after each spanking she’d say,

“Come on, harder,”

Or,

“You good girl, you’re a good girl,”

Or, 

“ _God_ , yes, spank me,”

“I deserve it,”

And honestly, she kind of did. Freya was honestly a little disappointed when Vivian told her to stop, except her arm was getting tired, and once things quieted she could see how Vivian was gasping for air, how her arse was red, with faint hearts all over it. Elena zoomed the camera in again.

“My arse is sore,” said Vivian, voice shaking, “kiss it better.”

Freya fell to her knees, dropping the paddle on the floor, and pressed her lips to one of the hearts. Vivian’s skin was hot beneath her lips.

“Okay, _now_ this is getting kinky,” said Elena.

“Will you shut up?” said Vivian.

“You’re the boss,” said Elena.

“I am, aren’t I? I am the boss!” said Vivian. She twisted at the rope and spread her legs apart. “You can get me off now.”

“Oh, let’s not rush this,” said Elena.

Freya crawled forwards through Vivian’s legs, then knelt, looking up at her for further instructions. Vivian shifted and lifted a leg, putting almost all her weight on the ropes – Freya hoped to god she’d done a good enough job there, she really did – and pressed the tip of one stiletto-heeled shoe to Freya’s chest, pushing her back down.

Vivian had taken gymnastics as a teenager, as she liked to remind her friends at every possible opportunity. She nudged Freya down with her foot until she was sprawled on the floor, then pinned her, the tip of one heel just almost pressing against the sensitive flesh of her tits where they were clasped by the corset. She had the daintiest little feet, but those _heels_ ; Freya honestly didn’t dare move. She sat and shivered.

The tip of Vivian’s toe nudged at her chin. “Use your mouth.” With one last jab of heel against Freya’s chest, hard enough that it might have bruised if not for the corset, Vivian released her.

Freya had never eaten out a shaved girl before, but when she pressed her lips to Vivian’s smooth, hairless skin she found she quite liked it, and she waned to linger there, but Vivian shook herself, rope creaking, and urged Freya downwards.

Elena’s feet rapped dully on the floor as she walked around behind Freya to get a good shot. “You’re getting a little too into this, you know.” Freya honestly wasn’t sure who that was directed at.

Vivian was hot and wet, as Freya’d expected; she was also loud, which Freya had not. Perhaps it was just for the camera, but it was the most natural-sounding thing she’d heard all evening. Vivian breathed and moaned so prettily that Freya didn’t want her to ever stop, and she barely talked at all, except to occasionally say ‘ _do that again_ ’, or ‘ _good girl_ ’. It sent shivers up Freya’s spine.

She teased – or did her best to tease, she’d never been good at teasing – until Vivian got impatient, then twisted her tongue around Vivian’s clit and worked at it, two fingers pressed just-barely down against her opening, where she was wettest.

Vivian came noisy, ropes creaking, right up on the tips of her stilettoed feet to push herself into Freya’s face, pushing so hard that for a moment it seemed to flood all her senses, hot and wet and dirty.

“That’s my good girl,” said Vivian, “good girl.”

“And cut, I think,” said Elena. “D’you think that will do it?” Freya was still crouched between Vivian’s legs and for a moment she thought she’d been forgotten, until Elena’s hand brushed at her hair, stroking her.

“Little bit more,” said Vivian, still breathless. Freya heard the click of the camera switching back on, and then Vivian said, “stand up,” voice hard again. Freya stood, and found herself almost eye-to-eye with Vivian, but for the heels.

“Now kiss me,” said Vivian, eyes sparkling, then, when Freya hesitated, “do as you’re told.”

Freya tried to go easy, because her mouth was still wet and she thought perhaps Vivian had forgotten where it’d just been, but Vivian kissed back hungrily, sucking Freya’s tongue into her mouth until her head began to spin.

“Alright, _now_ we’re done,” said Vivian as she drew back, mouth glistening. “Let me down, would you, ‘Lena? This is starting to hurt.”

“Just so you know,” said Freya, hands resting on Vivian’s neat hips. “I am never doing this again. Or not in front of a camera, anyway.”

Vivian’s heels came to rest on the floor with a _click_ as Elena untangled the mess of rope. “Whatever you say. You’re clearly my bitch, now.”

“I’m not anyone’s bitch and I demand Jacuzzi privileges all winter,” said Freya.

“Done,” said Vivian, and kissed her again, laughing. 

“Oh god,” said Elena, “we’re all the weirdest now, aren’t we? Well, damn. Just so you know, I’m keeping my own personal copy of this as payment.”

“Whatever,” said Vivian. “Thanks, ‘Lena. You’re the best. You’re both the best. You’re both my good girls.” She kissed Freya again, gentle.

* * *

**4.**

The week that Arthur moves in, Merlin gets absolutely no work done. At first it was fun, getting to fuck whenever and wherever they liked. But on the third day, after some great shower sex and a pretty heavy make out session in the kitchen after breakfast, Merlin is trying to get some work done, okay? It’s not that he doesn’t want another blowjob, it’s just he has deadlines to meet, and Arthur is not-

“Oh fuck,” Merlin groans. Arthur’s swallowed him down as far as he can and is pushing forward for more. “Are you trying to break some sort of world record?”

Arthur pulls off, just long enough to say “no, just a personal one,” and resumes sucking Merlin’s cock. 

“Okay,” Merlin says, “I don’t mean to be rude, but don’t you have work to do?” Merlin looks over at his laptop, his column not even half finished, and thinks that maybe having an office that wasn’t at home wouldn’t be such a bad thing. 

“I took the week off, remember?” 

Fuck. Gaius is going to have his head. Maybe he can impose on Gwen later. Her office is always quiet and blissfully boyfriend-free. But then he thinks they’d probably end up going to lunch for two hours and that defeats the purpose of leaving in the first place. 

“Right, right,” Merlin pants, focusing back on Arthur’s personal sex marathon goals or whateverthefuck. “Carry on.”

Gaius is totally going to kill him. 

+++

“As your friend, I’m jealous.” Gwen is laughing at him. “As your editor, I’m telling you to get your shit together. Do you need me to come sit on you until you finish?” 

“No, no I’ll get it done.” Merlin stares woefully at his three paragraphs of article. “But if you’d like to stop by with coffee and that awesome pasta salad from Sainsbury’s, I’d love you forever.”

Gwen sighs. “You already do. I’ll be there in an hour.”

+++

Arthur, upon hearing the news of Gwen’s impending arrival, decides that’s plenty of time for a quickie. 

When Merlin opens the door, Gwen takes one look at his messy hair and half-buttoned shirt, and snorts. “I can’t tell whether to laugh or yell at Arthur.”

“Both,” Merlin says, closing the door behind her. “Laugh all you want, and then scold my boyfriend for impeding my work.”

“You know you’re going to have to talk to him eventually.”

“Yeah, but he hates talking about sex, and it’s just...” Merlin trails off before he says hard and is forced to listen to Gwen make a joke. “It’d be so much easier if you do it.”

“Merlin,” Gwen admonishes. 

“I know, I know.” 

+++

By friday, Merlin is pretty sure Arthur’s doing it on purpose now. 

“Merlin, come join me.” 

Arthur is stretched out on their bed, one hand stroking light touches over his cock, the other pushing a dildo in and out of himself. 

“Masturbation is usually a solo activity, Arthur.” Merlin is trying to keep his eyes on his computer screen, He’s mostly failing, because this chair is comfortable, it’s not his fault he has a perfect view of the bed through the open bedroom door from here. 

“Yeah, but if you come in here, it ceases to be masturbation and becomes _sex_.”

Arthur makes a show of rolling his hips against the mattress, spreading his legs and giving Merlin a perfect view of just where the dildo is disappearing into his body. Merlin sincerely hopes his whimper didn’t carry all the way across the room. 

“I’m working, Arthur.”

“But you can do that later, can’t you? Isn’t that one of the perks of working at home?”

“Yes,” Merlin sighs, “But I’ve been ‘doing it later’ all week, because you keep interrupting me with sex.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Arthur says. “What, you don’t like having sex with me?” Arthur punctuates that sentence with a particularly good looking thrust in and subsequent jump of his cock. Merlin presses the edge of his laptop into his groin. It does nothing to quell his erection.

“Goddamnit,” Merlin swears to himself. “Just to be clear, you know what you’re doing, and you know that I know that, and we are going to have to talk about this.”

“Please, Merlin.” Arthur never says please. He looks honest-to-god desperate now. “Come play with me. It’ll be worth it.” 

Merlin sets the laptop aside with more force than is probably good for it, and stalks into the bedroom. 

“We _are_ talking about this later,” Merlin tosses his shirt aside and climbs onto the bed. “And nothing you do now is going to change that.” That would probably sound more threatening if he wasn’t unbuttoning his jeans at the time he said it.

“Yeah, yeah, just come here.”

“Come where?” Merlin swings a leg over Arthur, kneeling over his chest. He takes his cock out, stroking it slowly. “Here?” Merlin swipes a finger over Arthur’s lips. 

Arthur catches the finger between his teeth, before releasing it to pout. “No,”

“I bet you’d look pretty with my come all over your mouth, though.” Merlin shuffles forward, his cock hovering over Arthur’s lips. “I bet you’d like it.” He pulls his foreskin back, revealing the slick head of his cock, slit bubbling up more precum. “You like my dick in your mouth.”

Arthur’s tongue darts out to lick at him. “Yeah, but that’s not what I want.”

Merlin presses forward, pushing his cock between Arthur’s lips, before pulling back. “What do you want, then?”

“I want you to fuck me.” Arthur says, keeping up the pout. 

Merlin pulls away to wiggle out of his jeans. He climbs back onto the bed, between Arthur’s legs to reach for the dildo, forgotten in the midst of Merlin’s teasing. “But there’s something in the way of me doing it.”

“Then remove it, you arse.” Arthur sounds exasperated. He’s probably laying it on a little thick. For that, Merlin presses it in deep, the round base pressing into Arthur’s cheeks, before sliding it out and setting it on the nightstand. Arthur whines, and his ass clenches around air. 

“Shh, greedy.” Merlin replaces the dildo with his cock, feeling Arthur slick and hot around him. 

Arthur groans, long and low. “Fuck, Merlin.” He grabs at Merlin’s hips, panting when he pulls out, almost to the tip before pushing back in. “Can’t get enough of you.”

Merlin snorts. He knows that should be hot, Arthur’s mouth generally is in bed, but all he can think of is how much time they’ve spent fucking when Merlin had to be working this week. “You’re terrible.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a horrible, insatiable person who’s been impeding your work all week.” Arthur says, rolling his hips in an effort to get Merlin moving. Merlin smiles at that; maybe all hope isn’t lost. “Just shut up and fuck me, I’ll make it up to you later.”

Merlin does.

* * *

**5.**

Warnings: mild dub-con

**Act 1: Fire**

Arthur walks down the main avenue of town, grey ash swirling around the ankles of his boots. The buildings around him have mostly fallen in, shells of structures crisscrossed by charred, blackened beams that lean against fragments of walls. There are pieces of humanity scattered across the ground - clothing, children's toys, shattered pieces of furniture. But there is no sign of life; not even a plant remains on the scorched earth.

He thinks of legends he was told as a boy of cowboys and the wild west on Old Earth, that ancient blue world that they call the cradle of humanity. There was a term he'd learned in those legends - “ghost town” - that seems far too appropriate here and now a thousand years later.

A newpaper blows by, the crackle of dry paper the only sound for miles save for the crunch of his footsteps and those of the half dozen men who follow behind him. He follows it with his eyes and thinks that in another situation, he might be amused that these primitive settlers are still using paper to distribute their news.

They'd gotten the emergency signal five hours before, and even then Arthur had known it was too late. This isn't the first ghost town they've been to, it isn't even the only planet it's happened on. All of the planets in the system have been suffering, inner and outer ring alike, and no one is quite sure what it is. Abductions, some say, raiders or aliens from the great beyond come to pillage their towns like the pirates of Old Earth. Other say it's a plague, a virus of some sort, and that's why it jumps between planets and seems not to discriminate when it comes to who or where it attacks. There's another theory though, a hushed whisper in corners and back rooms. Arthur knows that there are some who believe it's magic.

“Split up, look for survivors,” Arthur tells his men gesturing with two fingers. He's only following protocol and they all know it. They've never found anyone alive in one of these ghost towns and none of them expect this time to be any different. But Arthur has to make his report. He has to say they checked every home and shed and under every porch before he and his men got back on their ship and went home to the Camelot.

His men disperse, heading in opposite directions to follow a search pattern they know by heart.

Arthur walks another few paces and picks up a book, brushing ash from its front almost reverently. It's actual bound paper with a linen cover and by rights should be sitting on a shelf in a market on one of the inner planets with a very high price tag. It's also not in a language he understands, which is strange because he knows four languages and can scrape by in three more if he's pushed. That aside, most books, if they are printed on paper at all, are printed in Basic. But then again, this is a planet in the outer ring and the outer ring has always been a wild land of unknowns and little, half-inhabited planets that feel like they're stuck a hundred years in the past.

Arthur still doesn't understand why his father stationed him at the edge of the outer ring instead of letting him police the inner planets like he'd always dreamed. He's always felt it was a insult or that perhaps his father didn't think he was good enough. But he still does what he can for these people.

“Sir!” someone calls out and Arthur snaps to attention. He recognizes the voice as Lance's before Lance even turns the corner around the remains of a house. 

“We found someone,” Lance says, a little breathless. He can't have run that far, but the air here is thinner than it is on the Camelot so maybe he has an excuse.

“Show me,” Arthur says in reply and starts running with Lance at his side.

Arthur isn't entirely sure what he's expecting to find, maybe some terrified or injured woman cowering in the cellar of what used to be her home, maybe a child who'd found some tiny place to hide and gotten lucky. But what he finds is entirely unlike anything he could have imagined.

There's a raised dais of rich, red rock in the town square that looks martian and on it is sitting a young man. He's uninjured, but his expression is utterly vacant and he does not react to Arthur's arrival except with the tiniest movement of his eyes.

Black hair, blue eyes, about 1.8m tall are what Arthur would write down first on a profile. But they are not this stranger's most eye-catching features. Arthur stares at the tattoos that curve across his skin. He's stripped to the waist so Arthur can see the lines of dark ink that caress every angle and curve of his body with a language of symbols and patterns that Arthur doesn't know.

“What's your name?” Leon asks and receives no answer.

“Hey, you okay?” Percy tries after a beat of silence.

Arthur's men are all there, gathered in a half-circle around this strange survivor, but none of them seem willing to take a step towards him. They shift from foot to foot like frightened animals, glancing at each other as if to confirm that they all feel this aura of strangeness radiating from the man.

“I'm Captain Arthur Pendragon of the Camelot and these are my men. Will you tell us who you are? We'd like to help you.”

Arthur doesn't want to move closer any more than his men do. But he squares his shoulders and takes deliberate step after deliberate step forward because Arthur Pendragon is not afraid. When he is less than a stride away, he crouches to try to get a better look at his face. The man lifts his head just enough to meet Arthur's eye and for the briefest flash of a moment, Arthur thinks he sees gold and feels something like electricity jolts down his spine.

Shock. Arthur feels suddenly like a fool not to have realized it. Of course his man is suffering from shock. That's why he hasn't been speaking to them and why he hasn't moved. There's nothing mystical going on here, no reason why they should all have felt afraid. He's only a frightened young man whose entire village has gone up in smoke.

“Come with me,” Arthur says and takes the man's hands, drawing him up.

The Survivor, Arthur isn't sure what else to call him since he won't give a name, walks a pace behind him in silence. His steps are sure and his boots are good but Arthur knows virtually nothing else about him.

For some reason that he can't explain, Arthur stays with Merlin all through the flight back to base and through the registration process to get him entered into the logs on The Camelot. They don't know his medical history, can't even get a reply out of him when they ask questions, so one of the medical staff pokes and prods and give him almost a dozen injections just to be on the safe side. They simply can't afford to bring some alien disease on board.

The man sits through it all with the same, slightly dull expression and doesn't flinch even once. Gaius checks for all kinds of things to see if something is actually wrong with him. But in the end, even Gaius is stumped and can only say that their survivor is utterly healthy and that perhaps he needs a nap.

Arthur snorts and leads the way to a spare cabin they've designated for the man they rescued.

“You can sleep here for now,” Arthur tells him. “If you're unable to speak, all you have to do is shake your head and we can sort out another means of communication. But we really need some answers to help you.”

The man looks up at him with sad eyes and doesn't reply.

Arthur leaves because he doesn't know what else to do. He goes back to his duties aboard the ship, goes out on the next mission they are assigned and when he comes back, the man they found is gone. 

He catches Gwen's elbow when she walks by, probably running errands for Gaius, and asks where the man went.

“Some of your father's men came on board and took him away. Didn't you know?” she tells him with a cheerful smile.

And no, Arthur hadn't known. He didn't sanction this and why no one bothered to check is beyond him. He should have had to sign off on the transfer, but even he can't go against his father so perhaps that's why no one asked.

“Oh, right,” he tells her and if the smile on her lips is too knowing, or perhaps even a little too loving, he isn't going to say anything about it.

 

**Act 2: Water**

There is a moment in which he's falling and it feels a little like flying and then he hits the hard packed earth and all the breath rushes out from his lungs in one enormous gasp of pain.

He rolls over onto his back, his body screaming at him, to watch the tail end of a shuttle cruising away from him across the desert. The back hatch, where he and a couple of scruffy looking men with guns had been standing a moment before, is closing in a final goodbye.

Arthur lays still for a long time until the pain dulls to an ache that seems to spread through every muscle. Then he struggles to his feet, touching fingers to his ribs gingerly and pulling them away with a hiss.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “This is just fucking wonderful.”

He and his men had followed rumor after rumor to dead end after dead end, chasing ghosts until suddenly they'd picked up a thread that actually went somewhere. Arthur had wanted to wait, to learn everything they could before they moved in to serve justice to the gang who'd been burning towns to the ground. But his father had ordered that they move out at once, and so they had.

He isn't even sure if his men are alive. He thinks he remembers seeing them before he'd been knocked unconscious and doesn't remember seeing them after. All he knows is that a bunch of goons had tied him up and flown him to a prison planet on the edge of nowhere. Arthur is no stranger to nowhere, but that doesn't mean he wants to spend the rest of his life there.

It's not even one of the real prison planets with guards and cells and walls to keep people in. It's just a tiny hunk of space rock with no ships to leave on and no law to protect a man. He's not even sure if he's within walking distance of a town or if he's destined to die of thirst in the desert.

The rock here is mostly yellow, shot through with veins of orange, brown, red and oddly, purple. There is alien plant life and he sees signs of animal life as well, just beginning to emerge as the light fades around him.

Arthur walks in the direction of the setting sun. It seems as good a direction to go as any, so he walks until his legs can no longer carry him then forces himself to go another mile before he falls to his knees and gives in to his weakness. He licks his lips, already dry and threatening to crack even after only a few hours, and wishes desperately for water he doesn't have.

Arthur was born among the stars. He knows the feeling of starlight better than he knows the feeling of the sun and perhaps it is that or perhaps it is simply his exhaustion which lulls him into a defenseless sleep in the middle of this barren wasteland.

“Lookit I found,” someone says and when Arthur opens his eyes, he has to shield them from the glaring mid-morning sun.

“You alive? Y'look like a corpse” the stranger says.

“I'm alive, thanks,” Arthur tries to snap. His voice comes out a weak rasp of a sound instead and he hears the man laughing at him.

“New prisoner then?” the man says and holds out his hand. Arthur takes it and together they manage to pull him to his feet.

“No. I don't belong here. I'm not like you,” Arthur croaks angrily.

“They all say that,” the man says, dusting off his hands on his trousers.

“I'm Arthur Pendragon. This is a mistake,” he growls. 

“Sure, sure, and I'm Uther Pendragon.,” the man cackles, “need a ride into town?” 

It turns out that the man's name is really Will. He's darkly tan with a mop of shaggy hair in a forgettable color that matches the desert. He's dressed in thin, ragged clothing that's been poorly mended in several places and he has the exhausted look about him of a man who works hard for the very little that he has. But he's smiling and cheerful and doesn't ask Arthur any questions about who he is or where he came from.

Arthur accepts the ride because he has no other choice and although he eyes the plastic canteen Will has slung around his shoulders on a strap, Will doesn't offer him a drink. It takes what feels like hours of riding that jars Arthur's bones and makes his sore body hurt even more to get to the pitiful little town that Will just calls Home. Maybe it doesn't even have a name.

He climbs off Will's ancient, cobbled together motorbike at the edge of town, wincing as he gets used to standing again, and looks around. It's only one dirt road lined in ramshackle houses cobbled together from wood and sheet metal.

“Can I point you towards something?” Will asks him.

“I need to find a way to get off this planet,” Arthur says and Will laughs like it's a joke.

“Yer not serious?” he says and falters when Arthur glares at him.

“You do know where you are, right?”

“Not really,” Arthur says. His captors had taken his com and his data pad and his weapons and just about everything else but the clothing on his back. He hasn't exactly had the time to work out which dingy little hellhole he's on at the moment.

“Ellios. There aren't any ships and there's no leaving unless you enlist with Mordred and his mercs, which, trust me, you don't want to do,” he says with a slightly pained expression.

“Fine. Where can I send a message off-world?” Arthur says, peeved. Mordred's mercs are the people who dropped him off here to begin with, so he definitely won't be getting a ride from them.

“Officially, nowhere. No off-world communication allowed,” Will says.

“And unofficially?” Arthur knows how these things works.

“Unofficially, you should probably go talk to Merlin. He can make pretty much anything. But he doesn't do favors so I hope you've got something to trade for it.” Will points down the road a ways at a battered old sign that says “mechanic” in carefully painted letters.

“Thanks,” Arthur mumbles, “and for saving me too.”

“Sure thing. Don't go telling people I did you a favor though. They'll be all over me wanting shit,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“Also, you'd better hurry. Gonna rain soon and it looks bad. It's either hot as balls or flooding around here most of the time. You don't want to get caught in it.” 

Will leaves in a cloud of dust accompanied by the unhappy roar of a poorly tuned engine. Arthur rolls his sore shoulders and sets off down the road wishing dearly that he still had his gun. The people he sees looking at him from doorways and windows look distinctly unsavory and if he knows anything about criminals, it's that most of them are more than willing to prey on someone without a gun.

When Arthur thinks “mechanic” he thinks some big, burly man with a wrench and maybe with a beard and a temper to match. So when he gets to the building and sees a tall, skinny man sitting on the step smoking, he figures he must be a relative or an assistant.

“Is Merlin here?” Arthur asks.

“You're lookin' right at him,” Merlin says and when he turns to look at Arthur they both freeze.

“It's you!” Arthur says, too loud.

Merlin throws a screwdriver at his head.

“Ow, fuck,” Arthur swears, clutching a hand to his temple and feeling the stickiness of blood. “Why would you do that?”

“What the fuck do you want?” Merlin snarls, standing up in a flurry of limbs and glaring at him.

“I need to send a message off-world,” Arthur says through gritted teeth and wonders if he's mistaken about the confused expression that flits across Merlin's face.

“Why?” is all Merlin says in response.

“I'm not supposed to be here. I... fell off a ship.”

Merlin bursts out into unkind laughter and goes to retrieve his screwdriver without so much as an apology.

“Why should I help you?” he asks as he sits back down on the step and taps the ash off the end of his cigarette.

“I helped you,” Arthur says with all the authority he can muster. It's a gamble, but he honestly doesn't have anything else to trade.

Merlin's laugh is, if possible, even colder than before, the sound sharp and cutting to his ears.

“You actually believe that? Look where I am. Look around you.”

“You must have gotten yourself stuck here somehow. That's not my fault,” Arthur says, frowning. It's not his fault that Merlin committed a crime and got sent to this planet prison.

“Fuck you,” Merlin says dismissively, placing his cigarette between his lips and pulling in deeply. “Go away. I don't have time for this.”

“It's just a message. I need to contact my men and they'll come get me,” Arthur argues desperately. He doesn't want to beg, he really doesn't, but he doesn't have anywhere else to go.

“For all I know, you fucked up and you belong here. I'm not helping you send anything anywhere,” Merlin tells him shortly, not even looking at him.

Arthur sits down on the steps next to him with a stubborn set to his mouth and the determination to wait Merlin out. Merlin doesn't speak to him at all and eventually Arthur gets fidgety and asks a question that's been bugging him since he recognized who Merlin was.

“You were covered in tattoos before, weren't you?”

Merlin smirks, turning to meet Arthur's eyes with that intense gaze and then suddenly his eyes glow gold and his skin shifts, chameleon-like, as lines of deep blue and black crawl across the surface. This Merlin is the Merlin he remembers, beautiful and wild like he's just this side of feral. It's like he's one of the tribal gods of Old Earth legends made solid.

But then Merlin stands, dropping his cigarette stub and crushing it with the toe of his shoe, and he's back to how he was before, skin smooth and creamy-pale without a mark on it save for the grease and dirt on his hands.

“How did you do that?” Arthur asks, looking up at Merlin as he struggles to mask the awe on his face.

“Magic,” Merlin says and wiggles his fingers with an expression just dripping with sarcasm.

“No, seriously,” Arthur says.

“Seriously,” Merlin replies and walks inside, slamming the door in Arthur's face when he tries to follow.

Arthur settles back on the step angrily and watches as the raindrops begin to fall, heavy and fat, on the parched ground. At first the dust sucked the moisture in greedily, the little, round marks of dampness disappearing almost as soon as they appear. But soon there's more water than the ground can drink and rivulets of water run down the road, joining together until they form a steady stream.

He tries to drink the rain by opening his mouth and angling it upwards. But it doesn't really do much to fix his thirst and he stops because he feels like a fool.

Merlin's porch has a cover of unfinished, wooden boards that may be sufficient to provide shade, but are utterly unhelpful when it comes to protection from the rain. Water drips between them in streams that run down the back of his neck under his shirt. Arthur ends up soaked and shivering, knees drawn up to his chest as he stares dismally out at the town and tries to work out what to do now. He's never felt so lost before in his life.

“You're really stubborn, you know that?” Merlin's voice says from somewhere above and behind him what seems like hours later. It's hard to tell, but Arthur thinks that the sun is setting again. He wonders how long the days here are and if they're shorter than the artificial 24-hour days that they use on the Camelot.

“I know,” Arthur says because he thinks it would be unwise to argue with Merlin any more than he already has and perhaps because it's a little bit true.

He realizes that the feeling of raindrops hitting his head and plastering down his hair has stopped and when he looks up, Merlin is holding a tattered old umbrella over his head.

“Do you know what happened to me after I left your ship?”

Arthur shakes his head. He'd assumed that his father's men had relocated Merlin somewhere, maybe given him support or new home. But he doesn't really know for certain and there's a pang of guilt sitting low in his gut that he never checked.

Merlin sighs heavily and looks out at the road. He holds out his hand to Arthur but jerks it away when Arthur goes to take it and makes an annoyed noise before holding it out again. The fake paleness of his skin fades slowly and Arthur watches in fascination as Merlin's tattoos reveal themselves. But in the center, on the inside of his wrist, is a circular burn scar with a symbol in the middle that makes Arthur suck in his breath.

He knows that criminals are sometimes branded. It's a barbarian act he's never approved of, but with so many planets and moons and space stations in their system, taking a new identity is easy. There's nothing the government can do to mark a criminal save for an inedible mark on his skin that can't be wiped clean with a forged I.D. Card and a new name. There are different marks for different crimes; it's all very much like the traditions on Old Earth that Arthur has studied. But the mark on Merlin's wrist is not one of the several dozen brands Arthur memorized in training.

“What is that?” he says.

Merlin pulls his wrist away and stuffs his hand into his pocket almost self-consciously.

“You know what it is.”

“I've never seen that symbol before,” Arthur admits.

“You really don't know anything about what your father does, do you?” Merlin asks. It hits a little too close to home for comfort. Arthur has never had any choice but to trust his father, but he's never really been giving proof that his father deserves it either. It's a conundrum he ignores most days while he and he men do their very best to improve the lives of the civilians under their jurisdiction.

“I wish you'd never picked me up. I would've been better off,” Merlin tells him quietly as he sits down on the wet wooden step, holding the umbrella between them.

“I'm sorry,” Arthur replies without really knowing why. He feels suddenly like he's seeing a fragment of some great picture through a tiny window without understanding what it means.

There's a beat of silence in which they both listen to the sound of rain hitting dirt. Arthur realizes as he sits there that both of Merlin's hands are hanging between his knees, but the umbrella is still hanging in the air between them like some kind of tiny miracle.

“You can't send messages off-world. There's a satellite system blocking transmissions,” Merlin says at last. “The only way to leave is on a ship.”

“Does anyone know how to make one?” Arthur asks.

“You really think if someone knew how that he'd still be on this rock?” Merlin raises his eyebrows at Arthur. He almost looks like he wants to smile, like he's hiding a riddle and wonders if Arthur will figure it out.

“Maybe not if he didn't have any home to go back to,” Arthur says slowly, taking a wild stab in the dark and just hoping.

“Do you even know how much something like that would cost around here? We don't do favors,” Merlin says next. Arthur wonders if he got the right answer.

“No. Someone else told me that too. Is it some kind of local motto?”

“Kind of. We don't have money, so you pay with whatever you have that the other person wants. Food, water, manual labor, you name it. We just can't afford to do things for free,” Merlin informs him.

“I don't have anything...” Arthur says like it isn't obvious. But Merlin grins dark and terrifying and he shivers in response, through whether it's from fear or cold he isn't quite certain.

“Let me fuck you,” Merlin says steady as anything. Arthur about chokes on his own spit in response.

“Excuse me?”

“I haven't been laid in forever. Can't trust any of this lot not to stab me in the middle of things and besides, you're one of the feds from a big station so you won't have any nasty diseases,” Merlin says matter-of-factly.

“Logical,” Arthur forces out, turning away to hide the embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

“I'll trade you room and board if you help me around the shop too,” Merlin continues cheekily. “I'm the only one in town with electricity _and_ running water.”

“Can I have time to think about it?” Arthur says hesitantly.

“Sure. But I'm not letting you inside unless you say yes and don't think I can't see you shivering. I put the kettle on for coffee in case you were wondering.”

Arthur groans pitifully, looks back at the door to Merlin shop and wavers. On the one hand there is his pride as Arthur Pendragon, son of the great Uther Pendragon and captain of the Camelot. But on the other, he is trapped on a strange planet and a man he barely knows is offering him a roof and a place to sleep and Arthur doesn't know what a kettle is, but coffee sounds wonderful right this moment.

“Fine,” he says after a pause, “I'll sleep with you.”

“Good. This'll be a fun story to tell the guys at the tavern: I fucked Arthur Pendragon. You put most of these guys here, you know, so they'll get a laugh out of it,” Merlin says as he gets to his feet again. This time when he offers his hand and Arthur reaches to take it, he doesn't pull it away.

 

**Act 3: Air**

Merlin pours boiling water from what looks like a metal teapot into cups and adds instant coffee. He laughs and shoots Arthur an incredulous looks when Arthur asks if that's what a kettle is.

“You don't know?”

“Usually when I want something to drink, I just push buttons and it comes out of the machine,” Arthur admits sheepishly.

Merlin pours something from a can into a pot on the stove and stirs. It looks disgusting, but Arthur realizes that he hasn't eaten since yesterday morning and although he's not sure how long that is in standard hours, it's definitely too long and his body is starving. So he eats what he's given and doesn't complain.

It tastes a little better than it looks and things improve even more when Merlin pulls a bottle of some strange, sweet liquor out of a cabinet and pours him a glass to replace the coffee he'd finished too quickly and burned his tongue on.

They sit on the floor at a low, rough-hewn wooden table and eat out of chipped bowls. Arthur gets the impression that even the bowls are a luxury and Merlin lives better than most. He wonders idly what Merlin did in exchange for these bowls and who had given them to him.

It feels strange to have their agreement weighing over him. He's never had to have sex with someone before for any reason other than that he wanted to. It's not that he thinks sex with Merlin will be unpleasant – Merlin is actually pretty easy on the eyes – but it's a strange sensation nonetheless. It feels a little like powerlessness.

He keeps catching Merlin glancing at him with the strangest expression in his eyes. It's not lust; in fact Merlin hasn't even mentioned their deal since he let Arthur into his home. It might be discomfort, but it seems a little more like curiosity, like Merlin has spent years fabricating some false version of Arthur in his head and the real one is different and unexpected.

Arthur pulls the blanket Merlin had given him a little more tightly around himself. It's not that he's ashamed of his body; he knows full well that he's good looking and even being mostly undressed in the presence of a stranger doesn't embarrass him. But when Merlin looks at him it feels more like Merlin is looking into him at things no one else has ever seen.

Merlin takes their plates away and glares at Arthur when he tries to help. Cowed, Arthur sits back down and waits.

“Shut up,” Merlin says when Arthur opens his mouth to ask if there's anything he can do to help. So he does. Merlin continues to wash dishes.

Eventually, when Merlin seems satisfied with the state of his small kitchen, he pads back over to Arthur on quiet feet and slides easily into Arthur's lap.

His weight is solid and lighter than Arthur expected, warm and human. Arthur doesn't know where to put his hands at first, but settles with wrapping them around Merlin's waist. This close, Merlin's eyelashes are long and dark where they flutter across his cheeks when he blinks and his high cheekbones are really quite lovely.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” he asks quietly. Merlin quirks an unexpected smile and nods. He isn't sure if it'll help, but Merlin's mouth is very inviting and if he's going to have sex with him, he may as well try to enjoy it.

He leans closer, pressing his mouth to Merlin's for no more than a moment. Merlin's breath ghosts across his lips and he smiles, doing it again for a little longer the next time and this time Merlin returns it. There's something unsure about the way Merlin kisses, like he isn't entirely sure what he's doing, and something about that ignites a warmth in Arthur's chest.

He doesn't want to admit it, but some part of him had feared that Merlin was planning to press him face down to the floor and fuck him while he screamed. Merlin is some strange mix of bottomless anger built up from years and years of pain and a gentleness that must stem from his very nature because no one here could have taught it to him. It's a mixture which makes him unpredictable.

Merlin kisses him for a long time and Arthur lets him, slips his tongue into Merlin's mouth as he slides fingers under the edge of Merlin's shirt and hikes it up to press hands to warm skin.

Then Merlin shoves him, hard, to the floor and there's the Merlin from before, all strength and anger with a coy smile that gives him away.

“I changed my mind,” Merlin tells him. “I'm going to ride you,” and fuck if that doesn't get Arthur's blood going.

Merlin pulls his shirt off over his head and stands up for just long enough to shimmy out of his trousers while Arthur watches in a state of torn internal debate and arousal.

“It's okay to like it, you know,” Merlin says, dropping back to his knees and rolling his hips against Arthur's with a moan. Arthur's breath hitches sharply and that seems to amuse Merlin for one reason or another because he keeps smiling and eventually leans down to kiss Arthur again with a little more certainty than before.

Arthur closes his eyes and tries to imagine that he's home on the Camelot, warm and safe in his cabin. He tries to imagine he doesn't ache from being thrown out of a shuttle. But when he tries to imagine that Merlin is there with him, something about the idea is incongruous and ruins the fantasy. So he opens his eyes again and looks up at the real one and decides he's much prettier than the vague mental image Arthur has of him anyway.

“You're very pretty,” he blurts out stupidly and that sets Merlin off laughing hysterically and yet somehow he's still rotating his hips is little teasing circles that, if they are designed to make Arthur hard and a little desperate, are doing a really excellent job of it.

Arthur's eyes flutter as he moans, thunking his head back against the hard wooden floor and finally Merlin takes pity on him and goes up on his knees to help divest Arthur of what little remains of his clothing.

“Do you have-” Arthur says and is cut off when Merlin tells him, “no.” But then his eyes glow for just a moment and Arthur finds his fingers are wet and slick with something unknown and isn't that just really fucking convenient. He wants to tease Merlin about it, ask if that's something he practiced, but Merlin kisses him again as though he sees the questions coming and guides Arthur's hand back to his entrance with an unspoken demand.

Arthur presses nervous fingers to Merlin's entrance, just teasing with pressure and little careful circles. But Merlin makes a really desperate sound in the back of his throat that sends a jolt through Arthur's cock so he presses harder, sliding one finger in and feels the way Merlin's breath stutters against his neck.

“Hurry up,” Merlin demands. Arthur thinks that another time he might like to take hours teasing Merlin open like this, watching every little flutter of his eyelids and every breath that catches in his throat until he shakes with want and maybe even begs for it. But Merlin is the one in control here, never mind that Arthur is the one stretching him with fingers as he moans lewdly.

“Hurry up,” Merlin demands again and digs fingers painfully into his arm until Arthur adds a second finger and shortly thereafter a third.

“Okay?” Arthur says when Merlin grits his teeth and hisses, arching back against his hand desperately.

“Fine. What did I tell you?” Merlin snarls and bites down on the juncture between shoulder and neck so hard that Arthur whimpers. For some reason, that's what makes him snap and where before he'd been cautious and curious, he now wants very badly to fuck Merlin with everything he's worth, make him scream from pleasure, not pain.

He thrusts his fingers into Merlin hard and sharp and Merlin grins at him like he's won something.

Arthur keeps going, just watching the gorgeous lines of Merlin's body shift under his hands until Merlin pulls his hand away and lines himself up to sink down onto Arthur's cock. He's shaking and grinning with something akin to glee as he does so and when Arthur first slips into him, his mouth falls open in a silent moan. Arthur can only look on in helpless awe and let it happen.

Merlin sinks all the way down in gasping starts and stops and when he's completely seated atop Arthur, he pauses for a shuddery breath and flexes long fingers where they're spread across Arthur's chest for balance.

“Alright?” Arthur takes quietly. Merlin kisses him again to shut him up and keeps kissing him like he's starving for it, like he hasn't kissed anyone in years or perhaps ever. As Arthur thinks this, he realizes that it just might be true.

Merlin rides him hard and fast and without an ounce of mercy unless neither of them can speak or even do more than make helpless, incoherent noises and slide hands across sweat-slick skin.

Merlin comes first, crying out sharply as his come splatters across Arthur's chest. He doesn't stop, even then, and keeps pushing himself up and down on thighs shaking with the strain unless he pulls Arthur's orgasm from him as well. He bites his lip, drawing red blood to just under the surface and closes his eyes. Arthur can't help but imagine the sensitive, over-full feeling of carrying on once he's come. But he can't complain either because Merlin is hot and tight and it's only so long before he comes as well with a quiet moan and Merlin's name on his lips.

Merlin stills, grinning down at him with an expression that's a mixture of proud and sleepy and satisfied. He manages to clench his muscles one last time, drawing a weak laugh from Arthur and a gentle shove. He gives in easily and rolls onto his side on the floor in one oddly graceful movement.

“That was nice,” Merlin says, stretching with a slow groan next to him and relaxing into a luxurious position like some kind of giant cat. Arthur's still in shock and coming down from his high, but he manages to smile weakly in response as he and Merlin lay side by side trying to get their breath back.

“You can tell a lot about a person from fucking them,” Merlin says conversationally, breaking the silence.

“Oh, really?” Arthur snorts, shifting subtly on the blanket to get a better look at Merlin's profile next to him.

“For example: someone who only takes care of themselves and doesn't bother to get you off too is probably a selfish prick,” Merlin explains, smirking at some unknown point on the ceiling.

“Okay, I'll buy that. So what do you think think you learned about me?” Arthur says.

“I think... you're actually a pretty decent guy. You care a lot about people,” Merlin tells him. He's looking at Arthur with that same curious expression again, the same one that Arthur hadn't quite been sure what to make of before.

“Yeah?” Arthur prompts.

“I basically coerced you into having sex with me but you kept asking if I was okay,” Merlin says, smiling and if he didn't know better, he might think it almost looked fond.

“Yeah, well, I don't see what there is to gain from hurting you,” Arthur shrugs, trying to save face. He's not a softie, he's really not.

Merlin nods, but keeps starring so Arthur takes it as an invitation to stare back. He maps the lines of Merlin's face with his eyes until they feel familiar because he barely knows anything else about this strange man.

Eventually, Merlin gets to his feet, stretching out with a low groan. Arthur can't help but appreciate the view from his angle on the floor, watching the lean, defined muscles of Merlin's back flex and stretch and that's not to mention Merlin's really very nicely shaped ass that's right in his line of sight and the line of Arthur's come that sliding down the inside of his thigh.

“Fine. I'll make you a damn ship to get off this dump,” Merlin says as he walks away still utterly and shamelessly nude towards what Arthur guesses is his bathroom.

“What?” Arthur says, sitting up in a rush when he processes the words, “you weren't going to before?”

“Nope,” Merlin says, smirking back at him around a door frame before disappearing. Shortly thereafter, Arthur hears the sound of running water. But he's too busy stewing angrily over the fact that Merlin had nearly tricked him to really notice.


End file.
